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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28281096">Outside the World</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt'>pherryt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Exchanges [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amnesia, Cheshire Cat - Freeform, Lost!Bucky, M/M, Mad Hatter - Freeform, Magic, March Hare - Freeform, Pocket Watch, Portals, Protective!Bucky, Recovering Memories, Reunions, Riddles, Sacrifices, Top Hat, White Rabbit - Freeform, Wonderland, allusions to greater conflict, bucky's friends never gave up, names have power, past self inflicted hurts (but not self harm), steve rogers - Freeform, steven strange - Freeform, stranded in another world, unwonderland</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:47:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,767</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28281096</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky doesn't really remember who he is, and what little he does remember is impossible. All his therapists have said so. There's no way he can be who he thinks he is - a character from a children's book.</p><p>And yet, the world around him just doesn't *feel* right - its too dark, too colorless and doesn't match the vibrancy of his dreams. Dreams he tries to capture both on paper and on his walls. </p><p>Bucky doesn't have any answers he can count on, just the hat he's kept all these years, but that guy that started following him  - as vibrant and eye-catching as the pieces of Bucky's dreams - </p><p>Well, he just might.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Winterhawk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Exchanges [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757926</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Winterhawk Wonderland - 2020 edition!</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Outside the World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/gifts">VerdantMoth</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was a pinch hit that I'm extremely glad I picked up :D I was given three prompts, as par for course, and immedietly started working on something that combined the first two even as I asked for clarification on the third.  So <em>of course</em>, when I got that clarification, I nodded at the email and thought, "That *is* an interesting idea. Too bad there's no way I could write something good for that so quickly."</p><p>And then promptly scrapped the other fic and did exactly that. </p><p>This came out better than imagined, partially inspired by a song sung by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wl3nDnKkF2k&amp;ab_channel=Buffalo122333">"Escape Key": "Girl That's Never been"</a> as soon as I saw the words "Winterhawk UN-Wonderland" clarified to mean:<em> "It’s like Alice in Wonderland but a little gritty, little darker? Kinda topsy turny"</em></p><p>Verdantmoth - I'm not sure this is exactly what you meant, but you definitely inspired me and I really love how it came out . I've absolutely been DYING to put this out there since I wrote it and I hope you like it :D</p><p>Hope - thank you, again, for the beta!!!! :D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
</div><p>
  <span>Bucky had seen the guy dressed all in purple, tall and lanky, several times that week. There was something familiar about him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that he could remember much beyond that night, over 10 years ago now, when he’d found himself blinking through the rain at a dimly lit street. The world had gone gray on him, he was sure it should have been brighter, more colorful, but it was… it was wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that there </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>color, but it seemed like this world didn’t thrive on it the way he was used to. So the man dressed in purple with the spikey blond hair stood out to Bucky in a way most others didn’t, caught his attention in a way nothing had for years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was the thing. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>other </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing. Bucky was convinced there were other worlds out there. That this wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>world. But everyone around him said it wasn’t possible, that the dreams he had at night of a previous life were just that – dreams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled a pack of cigarettes out with suddenly shaking hands, shook one out and held it between his lips while he lit it. He puffed out a bit of smoke, the world seeming clearer with the haze around it. He looked around, from the corners of his eyes, trying to spot the man again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, there he was, sitting up in a tree, almost hidden by foliage. He was crouched comfortably, like he had not a care in the world for gravity or the skin tight jeans that shouldn’t have allowed him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>bend </span>
  </em>
  <span>that way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today it was blue jeans so dark they were almost black, a purple striped turtleneck, and a leather jacket that was possibly black, possibly something else. The man was too far away for Bucky to see clearly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t actually know if the guy was watching him or not, his purple sunglasses hid his eyes from view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunglasses. At night. In this dreary, near colorless world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What if he wasn’t from this world? What if he was like Bucky? He debated going over there for a hot second, to strike up a conversation, but then he remembered all the other times he’d been so </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure </span>
  </em>
  <span>someone else didn’t belong here, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure </span>
  </em>
  <span>they were someone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Remembered all the times he acted on it, till he’d learned </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>to. To pretend that he was high when they brushed him off as crazy, scurrying away from him with fear or pity on their faces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let the cigarette burn out, dropping it and crushing it under his boot, then turned, shoving his hands into his pockets. His shoulders hunched in around his ears and he felt eyes on him the whole way back to his dingy apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dingy, because the one room studio was the best he could afford, with poor lighting and worn, gray walls but he’d tried to brighten it up, to bring color and wonder back into his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky had draped brightly colored clothes over everything, tacked them to the walls in patterns that made no sense but formed a landscape as he drifted to sleep. Giant mushrooms, teacups, hats and castles and things he didn’t have a name for. In one corner was a set of eyes and they should be the most unsettling of all, but feeling them on him gave Bucky comfort enough to actually sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And in sleep he dreamed. Of different clothes, of different folks. Of walking playing cards and talking mice, a cat that grinned and disappeared, of a stopwatch that never worked. An endless tea party with myriad guests that came and went at random.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some nights he thought the dreams would open a door in the wall and he would be able to return to the world beyond. To the world everyone around him said wasn’t real, was just a fairytale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky had had shrinks in those early days, many of them, all trying to convince him that he wasn’t who he thought he was. That he wasn’t</span>
  <em>
    <span> from</span>
  </em>
  <span> the place he believed he came from, that it just wasn’t possible. And then they’d showed him a book, Alice in Wonderland, and they’d told him it was a story, a fairytale. They’d explained to him, very carefully, that he’d suffered some sort of trauma and that he’d been using the book to escape from the loss of his arm and whatever had caused it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Never mind that all their searches showed that he didn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>exist </span>
  </em>
  <span>in this world. They said they failed to find him because he didn’t remember his name, because he must not have ever done anything wrong to be catalogued any other way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Never mind that Bucky read the book through, looking for a way home and found it… it was wrong </span>
  <em>
    <span>too. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It wasn’t what he remembered happening. He remembered the girl, a naïve menace, charging through Wonderland like a bull in a china shop, setting the entire land on edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, not remember, really. It all came out in his dreams, dreams that Bucky carefully journaled as soon as he was awake, cobbling together a timeline, a list of places and characters. He doodled landscapes and faces in the margins that almost looked familiar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started painting the fabrics on the walls, adding to the montage they already created, building off his dreams and the pictures in his book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The apartment became his sanctuary. The only place he felt… almost at home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He unlocked his door and stepped inside, flicking the light on. it wasn’t much, not enough to brighten the dim space, but it was enough for him to shuck off his boots by the door, place his long black coat on the hook, and walk about the space to light the candles strategically spaced out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the table, like a centerpiece, was his hat. With his memory gone to pieces and apparently untrustworthy, this hat was a physical representation of who he'd been before. It was beat up, a bit like him actually, after traveling with him for a decade, and he should let it go, he knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was too important. Bucky wasn't quite sure why, but it was the last thing, the only piece of  him  left from that day he'd been found. All the rest had been stripped away and discarded, but the hat –</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky slid a trembling hand over the worn felt, an instant calm passing over him. It was patchwork, like the wall, not in the way of someone poor but in the way of someone being artistic, though one may have led to the other. Silk fabric, he was sure, in patterned browns and golds and blacks and still somehow </span>
  <em>
    <span>brighter </span>
  </em>
  <span>than the world around him, for all that the colors were potentially dull. A ribbon of purple, the same color as the clothes on the stranger he’d been seeing, was wrapped around the top hat in a band, shot through with more gold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was it really gold? If it was, he probably could have sold this hat and been able to afford something better – but the thought made him drop into a chair, his knees gone weak, at the very </span>
  <em>
    <span>idea </span>
  </em>
  <span>of giving this up – the only tangible piece of his past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was important.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Very important.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lightning flashed, and if he hadn’t lit the candles, his studio would have been plunged into darkness after as the power went across the city, the lights outside the windows disappearing between one eyeblink and the next. As it was, he could hear the cries of dismay through the paper-thin walls of the building as others were forced to scramble for other means of lighting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky didn’t mind the dark, the no electricity. He’d stopped at a diner for food on the way home already, so all that was left was to change and get ready for bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He liked to sleep, liked to walk in the gardens with the talking flowers, to play chess when one of the royal visitors dropped by, to try and talk the rabbit into stopping and having some tea, to trade riddles with the cat who slipped through the trees like a ghost, imparting cryptic advice to everyone else but speaking more plainly to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lewis Carrol had called him the Cheshire Cat in that book the shrinks had given him, but that wasn’t the cat's name, Bucky was sure of it. Reading through the book, very few of the Wonderland residents had ever given their real names - the White Rabbit, the Caterpillar, the White and Red Queens and more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>names, Bucky was certain of that straight down to his bones, but who was trusted with a name was far and few between. Names had power, and they would never have told an outsider like Alice their true names.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he was sure he’d known the Cheshire Cat’s, and the Cheshire Cat must have known his. Was his true name even Bucky? Or was it something else completely? Was Bucky simply what they had given him so that he had a name? Why couldn’t he remember more about his past then mere dreams and feelings?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not for the first time, Bucky wished the book had held better answers.  He still had it, propped up beside his journals on the bookshelf. He’d read through it once, then back again and again, crossing things out and making corrections. Or just crossing them out when he realized he didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>remember </span>
  </em>
  <span>but knew it was wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, pushing his hand through his hair, fingers tangling in the knots but too tired to do more than comb his fingers through the worst of it. He stood up, changing into his sleepwear and slipping under bright red sheets and an equally bright comforter, patterned with teacups and roses. He left the candles burning – they were all mere stubs anyway, and would burn themselves out well before he woke – letting his eyes rove over the walls as they grew heavier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Falling into sleep, into dreams, was like coming home, which was why it was always a wrench to wake and find himself still </span>
  <em>
    <span>here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His place always seemed less bright, less comforting, in the wake of dreams that felt real. He was used to dazed, grumpy mornings as he shuffled through the space, making tea on autopilot –</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only it wasn’t morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The storm still raged outside, the candles had mostly gone out, the city was still dark – but there were two bright dots in the window and then they blinked, like a set of eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky should be frightened, the eyes far too large to be a mere animal. He should be terrified when he heard the faint creak of the window being pushed up. He should certainly be alarmed when a figure climbed through the window, leaving it open behind him, those luminous golden eyes seemingly burning a hole through Bucky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed himself up, sitting back against the wall and watched the figure approach, watched him pause to light a candle or three, then pick one up and hold it before him as he walked closer to Bucky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the man. The man in the tree, the one he’d been seeing around town. The one with the leather jacket and purple shirt and the painted on jeans, sunglasses now hanging off the collar of his shirt. He was grinning, wide and triumphant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you are,” the man said. “I’ve been looking for you. We all have. We’ve been worried about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” Bucky demanded, his heart pounding with the anticipation of an answer – an answer he felt sure would unlock many of the secrets held deep in his own mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Depends on who you ask. I have many names, one for everyone.” The man stopped beside the bed, holding out his hand. “Ready to come home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky felt something washing over him – relief, a rightness of things snapping into place, of affection – even though the memories didn’t come flooding back as he hoped. But he trusted this man with everything inside him and he accepted his hand with a breathy, “More than.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, Bucky didn’t take much. By the light of the candles, he changed his clothes, the man tsking over them in something like disapproval, though not judgement. The man waited as Bucky pulled the long coat on, pulled out a bag and put his few books inside. He looked around the studio, but he wouldn’t be taking the walls with him. Out of habit, he palmed his wallet and keys and put them in the front pocket, along with his cigarettes and his lighter, then dropped a change of clothes on top of the books and closed it up, slinging it over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped beside the table and reached for the hat. He didn’t wear it out these days. It meant calling attention to himself, mostly of the unkind variety, but Bucky had this feeling that he’d never be coming back, and he would not leave it behind. He placed it on his head, then turned back to the still nameless man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>There </span>
  </em>
  <span>you are,” the man breathed, his grin becoming no less wide and yet somehow turning soft. “That’s how I knew it was you. They tried to change you, here and here – “ the man tapped Bucky’s heart and his head. “But they couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>really. </span>
  </em>
  <span>What was once of Wonderland will always be of Wonderland.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was I whole in Wonderland?” Bucky asked, thinking of his empty sleeve and the broken memories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None of us are whole, and yet we are all wholly us,” the man said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You speak in riddles,” Bucky said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I? I speak plainly, the way of Wonderland. I save the true riddles for strangers,” the man said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I not a stranger?” Bucky asked. “I do not truly remember who and what I am, or who and what you are, only that I don’t belong here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You remember enough, and we could never be strangers,” the man said. “Come, time is growing short and the portal closes.” He drew Bucky towards the door instead of the window, which Bucky only felt relief for. It would have been difficult to do one-handed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked down windy streets, the rain a curtain that poured down on them. The man didn’t stumble, didn’t hesitate as he placed one foot in front of the other in long, quick strides, Bucky keeping pace with him easily, keeping his eyes locked on the man and trusting him to know the path.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The path back home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The path back to Wonderland.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was he mad, to believe this man so quickly? Was he deluded and the man was preying on his delusions? To what purpose?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why was he so familiar? Who was this man and why would he not just tell Bucky his name? No, Bucky knew why he didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Names have power, and you earned the right to a name. Without his memories, Bucky couldn’t say he’d earned that right. Or maybe without them, he hadn’t retained the right and would have to earn it anew, for Bucky was surely a different person now, right? Memories shaped the person they belonged to, and without his, he could be very different than he used to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man was right not to trust him. Not yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked a long while, until they stood at the entrance of the park in the center of the city. Something beyond the gates seemed to glow and Bucky was drawn forward, off the path through carefully cultivated gardens and towards the trees that waited, dark imposing shadows that loomed above Bucky and seemed to grow impossibly taller and taller the closer he got.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Going deeper into the trees, they followed no true path, only the light that beckoned them. The man let Bucky lead the way now picking their way over fallen leaves and pinecones and even little mushroom rings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then the trees parted and the glimpse of light he’d seen revealed itself to be a shimmering window into a different world. One that held the luster this one had lacked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stopped, mere inches away from it, the portal swirling in bright colors all around the edges and making a fancy scrolling frame out of wisps and smoke and light. Beyond was a crooked house with odd proportions, a neglected yard and an abandoned table filled with half eaten food and knocked over mugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone waited in the shadows of the house, too far for Bucky to see, to strain against the light of the portal and discern features.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The White Rabbit holds the portal for us,” the man said. “He’s the only one who can, with you gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can do this?” Bucky asked incredulously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With the right tools,” the man said. He turned, suddenly, looking Bucky in the eyes. In the light of the portal, the unearthly golden glow had faded, the cat’s irises changed and Bucky looked into a set of normal, blue eyes, that were beautiful and hauntingly familiar. He opened his mouth to say something and for once, words seemed to fail him. Instead, he blushed, then darted forward and placed a kiss on Bucky’s cheek. “For luck,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Luck for what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because all things change and Wonderland has rules. While I have always been who I am, while I am seen and unseen, I have not yet been seen like this, and crossing the threshold homeward may take this from me and I – “ the man paused. “I find that the possibility scares me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Cheshire Cat,” Bucky blurted. “You are, aren’t you? The Cheshire Cat in human form. I didn’t know that was possible. It wasn’t in the book.” But he knew better than to trust the book. He knew it got so many things wrong. Was this something else he’d forgotten?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither did I,” Cheshire agreed. “Till we lost you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a shout on the other side and Cheshire reached for Bucky. “Ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky took Cheshire’s hand and nodded firmly. “Ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then they stepped across.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was, indeed, a giant white rabbit, wearing a waistcoat of all things, waiting on the other side. His nose twitched and behind them the portal faded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome back, Hatter,” the rabbit said solemnly. Then he held out his hand – paw - and let something slip through his fingers till it dangled at the end of a chain. “For you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The broken pocket watch,” Bucky breathed, watching it spin, a dented, tarnished gold thing that was achingly familiar, seen in his dreams, drawn in his journals with loving detail. If he opened it, there would be an inscription.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not anymore,” White Rabbit said and when Bucky took it reverently, his hands only shaking a little, the rabbit hopped back, and he could see another watch tucked into the pocket of the rabbits’ waistcoat, though less beat up then the one Bucky held...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was ticking, he suddenly realized. As White Rabbit had said, broken no longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The right tools,” Cheshire said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky looked up from the watch, looked up and up at Cheshire. He seemed a little fuzzy around the edges, stripes appearing to crawl up his neck, but he still stood on two feet with a triumphant smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re still you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve always been me. Even when we’re lost, we’re still always ourselves, even if we don’t know what that is,” Cheshire said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, you didn’t change,” Bucky said, feeling strangely pleased about that. “You’re not the cat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m still very much a cat, but a cat with hidden depths,” Cheshire explained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a snort from the shadows and a smaller rabbit, with brown fur, stepped out from under the awning of the lopsided house. “Cats all like to think they’re mysterious, with riddles and uncomprehending ways, and our Cheshire is no exception,” the March Hare said, but he smiled as he said it. “It’s good to see you again, Hatter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s good to be seen. I thought I would go mad there, everyone telling me I already was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, but you are!” Cheshire laughed. “Mad in the most delightful of ways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Bucky said, his hand creeping up to the top hat on his head, to the name the rabbits had both called him, but which Cheshire had avoided. “I suppose I am. I am the Mad Hatter, after all, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are more than that,” Cheshire whispered. “More than that to Wonderland, more than that to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does that mean?” Bucky asked. Cheshire stepped back and grinned and shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we’re about through here,” White Rabbit said. “We need to get moving before Pierce’s men come back for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A thrill of fear ran through Bucky and his arm jerked down from his hat, clutching the pocket watch to his chest. His breath stuttered out and Cheshire grabbed him by the shoulder and steadied him, looking him in the eyes grimly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not letting Pierce get his hands on you again. We lost you once and it took us far too long to find you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding shakily, Bucky followed after Cheshire and the rabbits, each of them moving cautiously away from the house and to the woods nearby. Once under cover, they picked up speed, the rabbits moving faster than Bucky would have thought possible. The trees changed as they walked, growing taller, and taller and taller, and thicker around then the house they’d just left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They rounded one of the tree trunks and came face to face with what should have been a short and fat spotted mushroom, except that it was taller than Bucky, and taller even then Cheshire whose hair brushed the underside of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here we are,” he murmured, rapping on the stalk. Bucky stared from Cheshire to the mushroom, watching it carefully, but even he couldn’t see the door till it opened and Cheshire ushered them all inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rabbits seemed to shimmer as they stepped in first, ears and fur falling away to show people in their stead. White Rabbit was a man dressed in dark clothes with a deep red cloak, while the March Hare was a blonde man in simpler clothes and far too many muscles. Cheshire came in behind Bucky, and the ripples of stripes and fuzzy edges smoothed away till he was once more the man Bucky had met in his studio.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whew, that is harder to hold on to than I expected,” Cheshire said. Bucky turned to face him, and noted that there was no longer any sign of a door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is this place?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The center of all things Wonderland,” White Rabbit said. “Let’s see what we can do to unlock your memories while we’ve got some time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this going to work?” March Hare asked, nerves showing in his voice, doubt in the arched eyebrow on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky shifted on his feet uncertainly. Everything had felt like it was happening fast, almost in a haze, but each thought had been clear and distinct. Only now was he finally feeling a little bit of worry, like the mention of Pierce had reminded him of something, something he didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to remember, and now they were talking about finding his memories and giving them back to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time, he thought, maybe there were things he </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cheshire edged closer to him, their shoulders nudging together and his hand sliding down to reach for Bucky’s, twining their fingers together. It shocked Bucky out of his worry, as he stared down at their clasped hands. It was foreign – yet </span>
  <em>
    <span>right – </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he wasn’t sure why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Breathe,” Cheshire said softly, for his ears only. He wondered how sharp the rabbit’s ears were, if they only looked like men now and still retained their rabbity qualities, or if the transformation was complete. “Whatever happens, I’m by your side. I’m not letting you out of my sight again. I made that mistake once, and you paid the price.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault,” Bucky said. Cheshire gave him a crooked smile, but it seemed sad and guilt laden. Cheshire seemed to live up to his name, nearly always smiling and grinning, but Bucky was learning how to read those smiles – or maybe it was less learning and more remembering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to remember more, Pierce and whatever the fuck had happened be damned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at White Rabbit. “I’m ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you say,” White Rabbit said – had he ever known the White Rabbit’s true name? He was sure he’d known Cheshire’s, maybe also the March Hare’s. they must have discussed what needed to be done, because Cheshire urged Bucky forward, towards a soft, comfortable looking chair, having him sit down. Bucky slid his bag off his shoulder to nestle between his feet, the pocket watch he tucked into his pants, not knowing what might be coming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>White Rabbit walked behind him and Bucky felt a chill run through him when his hat was removed and dropped into his lap and fingers pressed against his temples. It eased some as March Hare and Cheshire came into view, March Hare hovering with his hands wringing together, while Cheshire grabbed a stool and pulled it close, letting their knees bump together. It brought more comfort than Bucky had thought it would, and it only brought him more questions. But maybe this would bring the answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This might be… uncomfortable,” White Rabbit warned, and then Bucky’s eyes snapped open wide as something crackled, sliding into his skull. Cheshire leaned closer, putting his hands on Bucky’s thighs, a warm comforting touch. Bucky’s mouth cracked open on a scream as pressure built inside his head. Cheshire looked at him with worry and hope, hands rubbing up and down Bucky’s legs, while a deep vibration filled his chest. Bucky gripped the arm of the chair with white knuckles and shook while White Rabbit ran through his head opening doors he hadn’t even realized were there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When at last it was over, Bucky fell back into the chair with a groan, head falling back weakly. He looked up into the face of Strange who was blinking down at him in mild horror. Bucky grimaced, sure he knew why. Bucky pushed himself, trying to raise his head and Cheshire –</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clint,” he whispered, watching Clint’s smile flow over his face and fill his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Clint </span>
  </em>
  <span>helped Bucky sit back up properly and movement behind him dragged Bucky’s eyes reluctantly away from him, to look at the March Hare – </span>
  <em>
    <span>Steve.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bucky?” Steve asked hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Bucky croaked. “Yeah, I remember all of you now. Though this is new.” He stroked his hand shakily over Clint’s cheek, scruffy and blonde and unfamiliar and yet so wholly him it was unmistakable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laughing, Clint leaned his head into Bucky’s hand. “Had to learn some new tricks to find you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve came closer, though he didn’t get between them, and Strange moved away. “What happened Buck? How’d you wind up there, with no memories and -?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And no arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky shuddered, but before he could speak, Strange did. “Barnes did it to himself, to keep Pierce from using him against us, or finding out our true names. He tore out all his own memories and gated away from Wonderland, but the watch was broken and he couldn’t control where he landed. That’s why it took us so long to find him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve looked heartbroken. “Oh my god, Buck-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t, punk,” Bucky said gruffly. “I’d do it again, to protect all of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d rather you didn’t,” Clint said quietly. He moved the hat from Bucky’s lap, placing it carefully on a sidetable before crawling his impressively tall body into Bucky’s lap and somehow curling into him, small and compact, head tucked under Bucky’s chin. The vibration he’d felt earlier was stronger now and he realized it was coming from Clint. It had changed in pitch and sound – morphing from giving comfort to feeling content.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky closed his eyes and let his head fall forward into Clint’s hair and breathe in the scent of him, his hand wrapping around Clint the best he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was home. He remembered who he was, who the people who were most important to him were. They would need to plan, soon, he knew. Plan on how to rid Wonderland of the outsider who’d tried to declare himself King. But for this moment, everything finally felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>, for the first time in a long damn time.</span>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So i didn't tag this as part of the OUAT series, but the fact that Bucky is the Mad Hatter is ABSOLUTELY because I've seen him play the Mad Hatter in that show (And I have not seen the wonderland version and i guarantee mine doesn't match up)</p><p>Also, after i finished writing this, people started really talking about Fae Clint and writing head canons and all i could think of was THIS STORY, because he had some of those elements too, and that made me want to post it EVEN MORE!</p><p>Lastly, the banner proved to be a bit problematic. On their own, each piece of the banner were just... <em>awesome</em>... GOD I LOVED THEM (THE TOP HAT IS MY FAVORITE!!!) but I had to take out the teacup to make it less busy, but I still wanted to show it off. so, extra piece of art! Yay!</p><p>**EDIT**<br/><a href="https://pherryt.tumblr.com/post/638413471536545792/pherryt-outside-the-world-marvel-winterhawk">Rebloggable Tumblr Post</a> - the link in the tumblr post has been fixed</p></blockquote></div></div>
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